


Disturb

by TheSushiMonster



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/pseuds/TheSushiMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"His answer is another swig." Fitz needs to get drunk and Skye provides company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disturb

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tiff, based on "fitzskye, 'do not disturb.'"

When Fitz unceremoniously sits on her feet, cradling a large bottle of whiskey, Skye raises an eyebrow. "Tough day?" she asks, sticking a finger between pages of her book.

Fitz spares a moment to glance at her before taking a swig. "Something like that."

"Science problem or a Simmons problem?" This time, Fitz glares before downing more alcohol. As he grimaces, Skye forces herself to grin. "So Simmons then."

"No one asked you," he says, pushing her feet from beneath him. Even as Skye spreads her legs across his lap, he sighs. "Just let me drink in peace."

"You're the one who sat down next to me."

His answer is another swig.

Dropping her book on the seat beside her, Skye leans over and grab the bottle from his hands, ignoring the fire radiating from his skin. Fitz's protests are lost as she takes a short sip from the bottle; the alcohol burns down her throat. "I still think you should just kiss her." It's half a lie, but it sounds like honey.

"It's not like that, Skye." His voice is actually kind of pathetic, but that doesn't stop tendrils of relief from licking her; Skye hands him the alcohol, which he quickly embraces. "I – it's not like that."

She tilts her head; he's staring off into the distance with a tiny frown, and Skye wonders why the hard look in his eyes makes her stomach clench. "Then what is it like?" she asks softly, bending her knees and scooting him closer to her.

When he looks at her, she leans forward; the ice is splintering. "Drop it, please."

It's that last word: it's low and cracked and desperate, an icicle through her heart. And his eyes are as clear as a do not disturb sign; so even though chipping against the walls Fitz seems determined to erect in front of her is her favorite pastime, she knows Fitz now. Skye swallows. Instead of snapping back the retort sitting on her lips, she grabs the bottle of whiskey from him and downs another shot.

* * *

Every laugh that leaves her throat is stained in red and worry, an effort to console an ache she doesn't quite understand. Fitz is smiling now, at least, but he's also drowning in his own shadows, and Skye hates that.

"You never did tell me about the Faraday cup," says Skye, fingers unconsciously unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt. "Ward tells me it's better when Simmons tells it, apparently, but – "

Fitz stiffens against her; her arm is slung on his shoulder and something on his face shifts. "Let's not talk about Simmons, okay?"

But she's too drunk now for that. She leans closer, resting her chin on his shoulder, practically on his lap. "What happened, Fitz?"

"She – " he starts, breath filled with whiskey, looking at the hand she's unconsciously tracing with her finger. "She keeps – she jumped in front of a grenade, Skye."

Skye understands then, because the pain that fills each wrinkle on Fitz's face matches the stone sitting deep within her gut. "I know," she says, this time consciously squeezing his hand.

"And – she keeps  _doing that_  and I don't know – I can't – " He's struggling over words and feelings and Skye wants to relieve the sorrow filling his heart; she wants to take his heart and cradle it to her own. She wants to make the pain stop.

"You don't have to," she says instead, and maybe it's the bubbles in her head that lift her hand to his face. As she caresses curls, searching his jaw, she sighs. "You and Simmons – you'll always be together, right? You would do the same for her, wouldn't you?" He doesn't need to nod for her to know the correct answer. "You're agents. It's in the job description."

When Fitz stares at her, eyes slightly narrowed and nose inches from hers, Skye swallows before sliding her teeth across her lips. His lips are so red, and he's so warm beneath her, and his eyes – he's  _sparkling_ , really –

"You're an agent too," he says finally, right before she may just kiss him to get it over with. "You're – you're one of us." And when his voice breaks on that last word, Skye doesn't care that he's upset and that her stomach is unsettled or that she's could be totally wrong and off-base. It's that damn  _look_  – it burns through her and sets her on fire and so she closes the distance and kisses him.

But – he kisses her back.

His arm snakes around her, pulling her closer and she doesn't protest when his hand sinks her plaid shirt. Her teeth graze his bottom lip and he groans; her grip tightens around his hair, curls slipped between fingers just his tongue glides over her lips. As her other hand travels up to his shoulder, the muscles tightening under her skin, Skye melts into the molten he exudes. Because even though he tastes of alcohol and blood, he smells of sweat and sorrow and pain; and her stomach clenches as he slides his other arm and now she actually  _is_  in his lap.

When Fitz pulls back, just slightly because her hands are interlocked around his neck and he's holding her up, he breathes out once. Skye smells whiskey and cinnamon. "Are you – how drunk are you?" he asks, his eyes hesitant to search her own.

"I'll remember this tomorrow," she says. Because she will; he's etched into every memory and crevice and her tongue tastes too much like spice. "And I won't regret it." The blue is burning again, the heart of flame, and Skye licks her lips. "Will you?"

Fitz takes his time; he lingers before her, his small smile just so slightly smug. Skye can't help that her grip tightens around his hair. And when Fitz grins, he only kisses the corner of her mouth. "No."

The empty bottle remains on the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of me wonders if this is all in Fitz's head (even if it's from Skye's POV). Take that how you will.


End file.
